Recently, I tried to learn how. Every morning for a number of weeks I would give it my best, and every morning, I just wound up just feeling kind of distracted and sleepy, which is not the point at all. Somebody suggested I sit in a hard chair, and still I just nodded off. Then that same person suggested I buy an adult coloring book (I know, I know) so I ordered this one—it’s all patterns, perfect for me—along with some colored pencils. And damned if coloring in that adult coloring book doesn’t smooth my thoughts right on out.

I feel like I’m opening myself up for ridicule on this one, so please be dear and open yourself up to me too: how do you meditate? How often do you do it? And: does it ever get easier?

Posting is going to be light for the next couple of weeks, guys: I’m booking it up to the mountains to be one with nature, do yoga, and finish up a special project—one that will be pretty exciting if it works out, and about which you will be the first to know. (Also: there’s a BIG hint somewhere in this post as to what that special project may be.)

At the risk of getting far, far more personal than I typically do, I’ve got to say that no decision I’ve ever made comes close to being as pivotal and positive as the one to walk away from my marriage. And you?

John Updike once said that the true New Yorker secretly believes that people living anywhere else have to be, in some sense, kidding. I’m a little ashamed to admit that on some level I can relate to that statement. But after waking up to this view for a few days, a person starts to realize that Northern Californians probably feel precisely the same way.

I saw my new spirit animal, Esperanza Spalding, perform Saturday night and have to say that even if you aren’t a jazz fan—and I am not—it is well worth checking her out. She is so talented and winning and drop-dead gorgeous and stylish it’s like she is another species entirely.

Yesterday I had the loveliest visit with longtime reader Claire Jarvis (she’s a fancy-pants English professor at Stanford): we met for coffee in the Mission District and talked shopping, her upcoming wedding (the bride shall wear Cornejo), love, and the relative merits of the west and east coasts. We’ve corresponded a bit over the time I’ve done this blog so it was a treat to meet her, but also just so wonderful to meet one of you. Makes me wish it could happen a lot more often.

My favorite of the stores we visited: Gravel & Gold, which is a little craftier than I usually skew, but thoroughly charming. They’ve got their own line of rather fantastic prints and a multitude of other items that aren’t on their e-commerce site, so if you are ever in the vicinity, do make a point of dropping by.

A trillion apologies for making my way back to you so slowly, people—as it turns out, my body was not quite down with my brain’s plan to bounce right back to work a week after a pneumonia diagnosis. So I’ve been spending my time alternately napping and lounging, marathon-viewing Broad City and The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, ordering takeout Pho, and wondering how it used to feel to actually, like, accomplish things. Next week I will be back to you; this I promise. Meanwhile, do please enjoy Joni Mitchell being absolutely divine.

It can be anything: a bad marriage, an unsatisfying job, a dress that fit you like it was made for you, but cost twice what you could afford. And, of course, any bad habit—many of which I’ve picked up and discarded over the years and the most pernicious of which was demon tobacco. I am fascinated to hear what you guys have to say on this one.

The relentlessly awful weather in NYC has played hell with my soul, so I made a (very last-minute) decision to get the hell out of Dodge and book it to Miami for a few days. Am in the Delta Lounge as I type and will be back to you for real tomorrow. Meanwhile, here’s a picture of the patio outside of my room. Pretty, no?